hunger & hope: banana bread with nuts & dates

You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope. -Suzanne Collins

Growing up, my parents never wasted any food. Although, we always had just enough to eat, we certainly didn’t have enough to waste. But I learned the real reason behind their no-waste policy at age 9 during our first visit to India.

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After much preparation, our suitcases are packed with gifts until they are ready to burst. Returning to our homeland from Canada, it’s unthinkable to arrive empty-handed. We leave on a cold Saturday afternoon in December. Our seven week long trip would span over the Christmas holidays to ensure the least amount of disruption to our lives here. We arrive in Bombay, as it is called at this time or Mumbai, as the locals call it, in the dark of the night. Compared to Montréal International Airport (otherwise known as Mirabel), Santa Cruz airport is literally a few small buildings strung together. Exiting the airplane, onto the tarmac, the first things that hit you are the odour and the humidity. Eventually, you learn to accept the odour, but the humidity is unrelenting, even in the middle of the night. My parents had warned me about how different India is compared to Canada, but still, I find myself unprepared. Within minutes of exiting the plane, India no longer feels like home to me anymore. Six years abroad can do that when you are so young.

My parents, on the other hand, are jovial; I’ve never seen them this happy. But that does not comfort me the least bit; I’m feeling confused and scared. Out on the tarmac, there’s lots of shouting going on in a mix of the local Marathi and the official language of the country, Hindi. I don’t understand either of the two. The only languages that I know are: Gujarati, my mother tongue that I now speak awkwardly and with a foreign accent; English, the language that I am now most comfortable with; and French, the second language that I am taught at school. But my parents speak and understand Hindi with ease and eventually, we make our way to one of the buildings and wait in front of the baggage carousel. It doesn’t take long for the airport workers to offer us help with our baggage. They recognize that we are foreigners (despite the fact that each one of us, my parents, my older sister and I, was born in India), and this, they equate to a substantial tip. What they fail to recognize is that in Canada, we hover just above the poverty line and live well below our means and that we had scraped together all of our savings to make this trip. The previous summer, my paternal grandfather had unexpectedly passed away, sending my parents into a sudden frenzy and fueling the urgency to visit before it would become too late to see other family members again as well.

Eventually, after what seems like forever to me, and during which, my father has strategically paid off a number of airport authorities, we get past customs. In this country of so many have-nots, money talks loud and clear and with such a low exchange rate even a poor man can play the game of a rich one.

A group of 15 or so family members are waiting to greet us with garlands. I recognize no one. Although, there is sadness since my grandfather is not among those who have come to greet us, overall, everyone is exuberant. Everyone, except me. Our hosts take turns hugging me and telling me who they are and although their names sound familiar, I feel guilty that my familiarity with them ends with their name. We make our way outside to the two Westfalia minibuses that were rented out just for this occasion The men start loading the baggage; the women, busy overseeing this. We are approached by beggars. Only, I don’t know that that is what they are. I mistaken them for airport workers who have come to help us so I smile at them.Their faces remain expressionless. Soon I realize that their clothing is torn and their feet are bare. Feeling uneasy, I pull on my father’s shirt sleeve to get his attention. He turns around to me and completely unfazed, he reaches into his pockets and hands them each some money. Clearly, he has done this before. The beggars praise him and as they walk away, my father’s brother scolds him. “Now that you are a Canadian, are you so wealthy that you can give your money away so freely?” he asks sarcastically. Their sister replies, “Let him be, he has always been the generous one that’s why God brought him to Canada.”

Finally the buses are filled to maximum capacity with baggage and people. There isn’t sufficient place for all of us in them, so some of my relatives flag down rickshaws to make their way to the train station to take the train back home. Home is 200 km away, on a farm in our ancestral village in Gujarat. But the inter-provincial road system is so crude that it will take some eight hours to cross this distance by road. I feel lucky; I got a window seat. My sister did not. As our bus makes its way out of the airport perimeter, I see them. They appear as greyish-brownish clouds, camouflaged by their surroundings but visible if you look carefully. This time though, there is no possibility of misinterpretation. I see them along the road. I see them at the stop we make for a bathroom break. They are homeless and hungry. If you think the line between life and death is always thin, then you have never seen this sort of destitution. Sure I had seen images of famine ravaged Africa on television but it’s amazing how much emotion a television in the comfort of your living room can water down. And until you see this sort of destitution up close, you never really know it.

My sister, the lucky one, is asleep, unaware of the tragedy that unfolds outside my window. The adults are busy talking, filling in the details of events from the past six years that until now were only summarized in brief sentences in letters sent. I am not interested in their stories; especially those of my uncle. It seems to me that he does not seem to understand what it’s like to be poor, as I do. I cry silently in the dark while feigning sleep. Even at age 9, I know that their faces would never escape me. It’s not so much their overall appearance or their sadness that gets to you. It’s not the deformed aftermath of leprosy. It’s the look of hope that glistens in their eyes, telling you “If you feed me just this once, I will be okay”. That they have hope… in you, that’s what’s most haunting.

By the time dawn breaks and light emerges, we are far enough away from this slum city making our way to greener pastures (literally, to our farm). But those few hours have claimed a little piece of my childhood innocence.

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To this day, I remain unchanged. I can not waste food. And that is why I make this banana bread. I will tell you honestly, this is the only reason I make it. Yes, it’s moist, delicious too, but certainly not my favourite. And never has any of my children ever said, “Hey Mom, can you make some banana bread?” But it’s made anyways, because there are over-ripened bananas that I don’t want to throw away. Because if I did, I would be telling the faces that haunt me that their lives matter less than mine.

I suppose that a food blog is probably the last place one would want to read about hunger and poverty. But it disheartens me, especially because I get to make food my hobby while this basic necessity is denied to others, and not because we lack it in this world but because we have designed it as such. It disheartens me to think that in a country as developed as Canada, there is poverty. It disheartens me to think that the human race has overcome so many obstacles but still, there are hungry children on our planet. And for this reason, I need to talk about it, here on a food blog. It doesn’t feel right, but it never will until this problem is eradicated. There are many ways each one of us can make a difference starting with reducing food wastage in our own homes. So if you find yourself with some over-ripened bananas, you can stick them in the freezer for a smoothie or make this cake but please don’t throw them away.

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41 thoughts on “hunger & hope: banana bread with nuts & dates”

This is such an amzing blogpost! Not only the recipe and the cake, which looks delicous by the way, but I love what you said. There is so much food thrown away, it’s terrible! I promise, I won’t throw the bananas!
love, elena

You have written the backdrop to your concept of not wasting food so well. It makes absolute sense to put it on a food blog. That banana bread looks yummy even though I am not a fan of banana and bread together! Maybe I better have a slice of yours 😉

Very powerful post Annika. It is unfortunate that people dump so much food into the garbage rather than thinking of creative ways to use it, especially with all the poverty in the world. I think many people are starting to realize this, which is why some places are starting to tax for wastage. Others are donating leftovers to shelters to ensure it’s being used. It’s good that you brought this up in a banana bread post. So many bananas go to waste when they can be frozen and used for so many purposes! Like for your lovely banana bread recipe. 🙂

A beautifully written story, Annika and extremely relevant in today’s world. What did I tell you? The perfect place to share it. And do you know what’s spooky? I didn’t know exactly what you were going to write about but had a feeling – banana bread (or banana loaf as she called it) is what my mother always baked when she had bananas to use up. Whenever I smell it baking now it takes me back to my childhood. A gorgeous post x

I have never seen poverty that close like you, but in Italy I was raised up with a respect for food that my parents instilled me. They grew up during the World War 2 and food was so scarce and hunger so strong, that the idea of wasting food never crossed their mind. When I came to Canada a few years ago I was shocked to see how much food was thrown away. We have a mission, with Loreto, never to waste food and also today’s post we just published ends up with “waste not want not”. I have 2 bananas in the fridge and a want to bake banana bread so bad. Plus, I love baking with spelt flour. This is going to be on our table soon! 🙂

I can imagine your shock because the food wastage issue of affluent societies is no less than shocking! But I am glad that more and more people are talking about this topic. I look forward to reading your post. I hope you get a chance to make it!

Great recipe and I like what you wrote! I can also not see people wasting all this food, it is really a huge problem! There are so many people, even here in this Country, that do not have enough to eat.

Never would’ve thought to put everything together like that, this is amazing! Really loved what you did with this 🙂

I was wondering if you were on FB at all? It would be amazing if you could share your recipe in our group, would love for you to join our community of food lovers! Check us out here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/OnlyGoodEats/

Annika, this is the perfect outlet to address food waste, food insecurity and poverty. Not everyone has access to food and most people might not understand that. The issues surrounding food go beyond recipes and beautiful pics which is why I appreciate this post, and very much enjoyed reading about your journey.
For those of us who are able to, we should find a way to help make a difference. That can start in our own homes.
Great recipe. Great inspirational storytelling. Love the beautiful pics as always. 🙂

Thank you dear for this lovely comment. Yes, you are so right… those of us who are fortunate enough should always strive to make a difference, starting in our home, reaching into our community and beyond. If we don’t do this, who will?

This was an eye-opening read. Thank you. You are completely correct, we see the famine, and especially these days the horror, other people have to go through every day in a very watered down version on TV. I have been fortunate(or unfortunate) enough not to experience this desperation first hand, and I have to admit a small part of me is glad for that. Yet it breaks my heart that we can so easily go about our day wasting things and especially food, while others in the world go through so much pain. Yes we can all do our part by donating, or volunteering our time, but I think unless you experience it first hand as you did at 9 years old it is very difficult for anyone(including myself) to actually change how they live their life. Having a daughter now, my view of the world seems to have changed a little. I am more apt to help others when I see they are struggling. Whether it’s my subconscious trying to set a good example for my daughter, I’m not sure. I hope that by teaching others, children especially, how fortunate we are over here in Canada, and not to take the small things for granted, that we can somehow make a difference in the world.

Thank you so much Markus. There is so much we can do but I think the most helpful is to raise mindful children. Can you imagine, a whole generation of people who care for one another as well as the planet… now that would be a wonderful world! So I think you are on the right track with setting an example for your daughter. Bravo!

This made me cry, your story telling reminds me of Bryce Courtney. It’s deeply detailed, raw and thought provoking. If you’re not a serious writer, may I say you would make a very fine one. My mother made banana cake every so often and it was my school lunch for a few days. This was because I wasn’t fond of bananas (and I am still not fond of them!) so they over ripened and she could not bear to throw them away. I can’t say I was fond of the cake either, but I considered it fruit and as much as I was tempted to feed some to the sparrows watching my every move, I didn’t dare ♡

Thank you so much. I cried a lot writing this too and often think of the people who inspired this post, wonder what became of their lives while mine turned out pretty good, so much guilt… Your mother taught you a valuable lesson and reading your last Instagram post, I see you are continuing in her ways. Keep sharing your stories and I will share mine, together we can make a difference. xx

The guilt yes…I understand and I believe if we live within our means and practice gratefulness for what we have, we respect those who were never able to rise above their circumstances. It means their suffering wasn’t for nothing and we “see” them Xx